


It's Raining

by Wireslide



Series: Fifty Ships [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: It means "within a warrior" or "the warrior within", Kuron is the project name so I gave him his own, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Shiro's been having trouble sleeping, he's been having headaches. Lance offers a sympathetic presence.





	It's Raining

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a 50-50 challenge.

The Black Lion couldn't readily take off in all the variations happening in the different levels of the local atmosphere, he'd explained to the team, and they'd have to wait to move on until the storm passed. Hunk, Pidge, and Allura had all agreed that they would continue gathering the materials on the list and return for him, and Lance had volunteered to stay and keep him company. He'd descended into the thick rain and gusting winds against the Red Lion's objections, settling her next to her sister inside the enormous cave and wasting no time in setting them up with a cozy fire and an alarmingly large pile of pillows and blankets he'd kept stashed in Red's cargo area. A few easy (well, for Lance) shots with his bayard got them a handful of decently-sized cave lizards, which he was turning slowly to roast them over the fire.

It was homey, and between Lance's easy control of the situation and the soft waves of color shifting through the rain, it made his heart hurt. He leaned on his hand, watching the younger man test one of the lizards before putting it back over the fire. Lance had his back to the opening of the cave, trusting him to have it covered if something approached, and the colors from the rain framed him in a shifting rainbow glow. He opened his mouth, feeling words he knew he couldn't voice pressing on the back of his tongue, then bit his lips closed before any could escape. He settled some of the pillows in an arc, straightening out the blankets so that they could be easily pulled across laps and shoulders, until he had half a feasible nest in place. When he looked up again, Lance was smiling at him softly, and he could feel the fabric in his grip suddenly tangle. He looked down abruptly to make certain it smoothed out properly.

“I figured you wanted to talk,” Lance prompted him quietly, “about the things that have been bothering you. The headaches, the disassociation. You said you were having weird dreams, too. But if you don't want to--”

“I-I do,” he looked up from the blanket, letting it settle on top of the pillows, “it's just...it's kind of nice, just the two of us here. I didn't...I don't want to spoil it.” He sank down among the pillows, looking up and offering Lance a smile as he accepted a spit with a couple of the cooked lizards on it. He scooted closer as Lance sat beside him, half-curling against his side and sighing when one long arm settled around his shoulders.

“It's okay to not always be the Great Heroic Pillar of Strength,” Lance told him gently, rubbing his cheek briefly against his shoulder before carefully gnawing off a piece of his own meal, “and I get why you don't want to take off that mask in front of the others. But it's me, Shiro. It's just you and me, and being honest about our problems—that's not going to change anything between us. It didn't before, right, not in a bad way?”

He couldn't contain the answering smile at the thought of how their relationship had changed since he'd first confessed his problems to the blue eyed man. Moments plucked from comfortable nights with Lance curled against his back, the quietly mumbled acceptances of his presence night after night, played in his head in a dizzying reel. “Not at all in a bad way,” he agreed, tipping his head to gently bump it against Lance's, “it's the best I've slept since the raid on Central Command.” He felt his throat tighten, memories of incarceration following the raid closing in, but Lance blew in his ear and the moment passed with an awkward laugh and a swipe at his companion. “Hey!”

“No fixating,” Lance scolded him with a laugh, “just let things out. If you brood, all you're gonna do is get upset without draining the wounds. So, the headaches, can you tell if they have a trigger?”

He sighed. “If I spend too much time with Black, if a battle goes on too long and I'm piloting for a long time, it's like my head starts splitting just above my eyebrows, in a circle. Like some kind of twisted halo. If I can't...if I can't get away from her fast enough it starts to feel like someone's cutting the top of my head off, and the more it hurts, the less I feel like...like me. Like every time the halo tightens, I stand a little further outside of myself and I think of me less as Shiro and more as...as not-Shiro.” He found himself tripping over his words, rushing at the end, and shook his head, stopping to tear into his meat. “I don't think it makes sense.”

Lance watched him for a long moment, the soft acceptance of his expression never wavering. Finally, the hand that had been comfortably cupped around his shoulder reached up to brush his ragged bangs from his face. “Do you have a name for the not-Shiro?” He asked gently, the filtered colors of the chemical rain softening the sharp lines of his face.

The sound of the rain outside dragged on between them. He could see the silhouettes of the lions against the backdrop of shimmering colors, and for a moment his head felt like it had a wire tightening around it. Swaying slightly at the sudden pain, he turned to look at Lance, and felt the wire break when it met the scrutiny of those deep blue eyes.

He didn't make a conscious decision to pull Lance down onto him as he fell back into the nest of pillows, wasn't sure at what point of the descent their mouths had met but the ashy taste of unseasoned meat on Lance's tongue was his new favorite thing. Lance's hand tightened in his hair and the younger man's long, trim legs straddled him without any hesitation. Some part of him recognized, dimly, that the food Lance had gone to such trouble to cook lay discarded in the dust, but he couldn't bring himself to immediately care. The paladin armor, usually so easy to get into and out of, suddenly proved troublesome, and he hadn't realized he was growling at it until Lance lifted his head to smile down at him.

“That's...that's kind of hot,” the younger paladin informed him breathlessly, cupping both hands around the back of his head and kissing his answering smile, “that's actually really hot.” He straightened up after a moment to help strip them both down to their black bodysuits, never leaving the older paladin's lap in a show of flexibility and acrobatics that had him pulled into another kiss almost as soon as the last piece of armor skidded through the cave and into the shimmering shadows.

“You're one to talk,” he panted when the kiss parted briefly, only to have his words swallowed up in Lance's lips and drowned out by his laugh. He felt a coil of tension loosen at the sound of that laugh, the feel of Lance's hands ghosting over the back of his head and the knot of scars on the back of his neck. He slid his hands up the backs of Lance's thighs, every shiver and hitched breath coursing through him like balm on a wound, a sudden cool rain on a hot day. He was drowning, and still wanted more. Since Lance wouldn't give up his mouth except for quick, short gasps of air, he tried to communicate this by tugging at the black bodysuit covering Lance's back.

It didn't take much effort to get the stretchy material down over one shoulder, and he pulled his mouth away to marvel at the spattered freckles hiding in the rich brown of Lance's skin. They tasted like sweat and some kind of fruit tang, and he traced the line of Lance's collarbone with his tongue until he could bury his nose in the dip of his clavicle. Even the guava hints of the younger man's body lotion eased his mind, though recently sweet smells had begun to set him on edge. He kept pushing the bodysuit away, pulling apart magnetic closures and exposing more skin to his eyes, his hands, his mouth, the myriad colors of the rain.

Finally, feeling as though he hadn't breathed anything but Lance in a year, he leaned back to look up into those dark blue eyes. Lance was still smiling at him, panting from the flurry of affection and clinging to his shoulders. There was so much in those eyes, all for him— _not for Shiro,_ a part of him whispered rebelliously—and as the rains outside changed the lighting in the cave, each shift showed him another layer of how Lance viewed him. He could feel something inside of himself grow heavy and strain under the weight of it all; affection, admiration, wonder, reassurance, bemusement—they fell into the depths of his mind like rain against paper as he identified them. He pulled Lance down for another kiss, and the eagerness that met his lips washed away whatever barrier had been left, if only for a moment.

“Vorash,” he whispered into Lance's mouth, following it up with a growl as the younger paladin nipped at his lower lip, “my name is Vorash.” As if to silence the words, he immediately pushed back into the kiss with another growl, dragging his nails roughly across the covered backs of Lance's thighs. He froze when Lance whimpered, suddenly remembering that one of his hands was made of metal, and started to lean back, searching the darker face for signs of pain. Lance shushed him before he could ask anything, peeling both arms the rest of the way out of his bodysuit and shoving it down to his waist before ducking back down for another kiss.

He lost track of the number of kisses, of the endless small sounds Lance made that wove into the sound of the rain like music; he even lost track of where his hands were for the most part, until coarse hair touched his fingers and Lance lifted his head abruptly with a yip. He stared down at him again, eyes wide and irises almost invisible rings of lighter blue-black around the dazed depths of his pupils. He gasped for air now, lower lip shaking with each breath, and slowly dropped his gaze to where Vorash had pushed the suit down far enough to reveal the thin trail of curly hair beneath his navel. His eyelids drooped, and he rolled his hips upward, pushing the heat of his erection against the older man's palm.

Everything spun, and some distant part of his brain registered that the rain had increased, the colors dancing over Lance's skin had gotten brighter, but all he could register was the fire against his palm and his sudden intense need to memorize it. He shifted the fabric down further, huffing when his own hand got in the way of removing it. He didn't want to let go of the heat, not even for a moment, not yet. He rolled his palm against it, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch up in a satisfied smile when Lance leaned blindly forward to press his face against his shoulder and rocked into the touch. He traced everywhere his fingers could reach, cupped and tugged and even pinched a little while Lance squirmed and moaned against his neck. He craned his head, not wanting Lance to think he was pulling away, but he wanted the soft wetness of the younger paladin's mouth on his again, wanted to drown in him and forget the rest of the universe existed at all.

It felt like an eternity before Lance lifted his head, the swirl of colors over skin slowing time between them, giving him more moments to drink in the damp parting of Lance's lips, the dazed, almost drowsy flutter of his eyelashes. Even when the chemical lighting splashed green across his cheeks, he could see that Lance was flushed. He leaned in to kiss him again, discovering that he may as well have touched the younger man with a live wire; all trace of sluggish lust gone in the span of time it took for Lance to feel their mouths touch.

He was convinced he was being devoured from the mouth inwards by a hurricane; Lance's hands tugged on his hair, scraped nails down his scalp, tangled in the collar of his bodysuit and pulled it viciously from both sides until he could hear the seams starting to pop and the stretchy fabric pressed tightly on the front of his throat. It was an illusion of choking; he tried to push his neck against Lance's hands, but it forced him to choose between carrying on with their kiss or add more pressure to his neck and he growled in frustration. He shoved Lance away roughly, biting back an immediate apology when the leggy brunette almost fell out of his lap. The grip on his collar stopped him, but the pressure was on the bundle of scar tissue now and it pulled a quiet rumble from his chest. He felt the magnetic closures start to slide apart.

He traced his thumb over the bulge in Lance's suit, watching the concern and confusion mostly fall back behind the lust again in Lance's eyes, then forced his hand up over one trim thigh to the blue paladin's hip. “Turn around?” He managed, the words stumbling through his brain in four different languages, and he shook his head carefully to make sure he repeated himself in English. “Turn around. Sit. I want...” he pressed his lips together and shook his head again, scowling at himself. ' _Saying it out loud would be asking consent_ ,' a part of him insisted, ' _but saying it might make things awkward_ ,' interrupted another part. He wet his lips, struggling with the fear of making Lance want to stop for either reason.

Lance's hands released the fabric of his collar to stroke his shoulders. Each motion pulled tension out of his muscles. “Vorash?” He asked quietly, and smiled when the older man's head snapped up. He cupped his face, lightly stroking a thumb over Vorash's lower lip until he got an answering smile in return. “It's always okay to tell me what you want from me, and it's just as okay to stop if you want to. If it's too much.”

“Stop?” No, that wasn't at all what he wanted. “No, I--” He felt Lance's thumb touch the corner of his mouth again, and he dragged in a shuddering breath. “I want to—“ he couldn't say this with Lance smiling at him like that, all sweet and gentle and understanding, it was too much and he was crumbling inside under the soft but relentless assault. He closed his eyes, feeling his fingers tighten on Lance's hip. “I want to wrap myself around you and feel you rock back against me while I make you feel good,” he whispered, aware both peripherally and with bone-deep acuity that the younger man shifted forward to hear him over the rain, “I want you to lay your head back on my shoulder and forget any name you've ever heard—including your own.”

The silence dragged on like torture, every raindrop that hit the ground outside like a tiny drill in his skull, every heartbeat a hair closer to bursting in his chest. He didn't dare open his eyes, could still see the colors swirling behind his lids, and he almost missed the quietly whispered, “holy fuck,” that Lance managed to muster in response. His eyes popped open when it sank in that the tone of that pleasant tenor had dropped back to the raspy lust-soaked drag that had comprised the noises Lance had been making earlier, and he gave the darker-skinned man a hesitant smile.

“That's really not fair, you know,” Lance husked, rising up on his knees to press their mouths together again while he peeled his bodysuit down his thighs, “you're not supposed to be intensely sexy and friggin' adorable at the same time.”

“You manage it constantly,” Vorash pointed out, helping him steady himself while he wriggled out of the now-tangled stretchy fabric. The retort earned him a surprised laugh and another kiss.

“Are you sure you don't want to also be naked?” The words were panted against his mouth when Lance finally pulled back. “We could--”

“That is a temptation I think it's best to avoid in a situation without lube,” the black paladin interrupted hastily, shivering from the images the mere suggestion had poured through his brain, “I don't—I'm not sure I could resist—it.” He turned his gaze on the hand gripping Lance's dark-skinned hip. Part of his brain noted the lack of a tan line with interest, filing the snippet away for later. “You. I know I can't resist you.” He wet his lips again, lifting his head before Lance could get him caught up in another kiss. “Turn around?”

The quick flash of a pout at the avoidance of his kiss turned into a sly smile, and Lance obediently shimmied backwards out of his lap, then stood and stretched. His erection bobbed in front of Vorash's face, and Lance enjoyed the way those grey-brown eyes fixated on it, letting his arms come back down to gently brush back the hastily cropped tangle of coarse white hair. “You know if you change your mind--”

“Have you?” It pulled something in Lance's chest, the sudden panic with which Vorash's gaze snapped up to his face.

“No, babe,” he gave him a smile, stroking his hair, “Just want you to know that you don't have to limit what you want from me, or--” he bit the inside of his lip, but it couldn't contain his wicked grin, “what you want to do to me. I promise, I am absolutely up for anything you want. Everything you want.”

He took a moment, staring up at Lance's face, then leaned forward. He felt his hair brush the younger man's chest as he setttled his face in the crease of one sharply defined hip and inhaled. He heard another soft curse, turning his head to nuzzle the base of Lance's cock. He could have drowned in the heady thick smell of sweat and arousal, he could already almost taste it on the back of his tongue. It made him impatient, and he slid his tongue out and down, enjoying the heavy feel of Lance's testicles on his tonuge before he pulled back enough to leave a slick trail of saliva up the curve of his shaft. He looked up as he pulled back, taking intense staisfaction in the way Lance bit his lip and struggled to keep his eyes open.

He leaned in again, eyes locked with Lance's, and settled his mouth over the tip of the darker man's cock, pushing himself down onto it at a steady pace and swallowing at regular intervals. He almost couldn't hear Lance's whispered cursing over the blood rushing in his ears. He pressed his nose into the coarse curls, felt the damp skin of his balls against his chin, and swallowed again just to feel Lance thrust shallowly against him in response. He slid back, curling his tongue over the length as he did and gripping Lance's hips firmly as he smiled up at him. “Lap,” he repeated insistently, twisting at the other's hips.

“Are you serious you're gonna deepthroat me and then--” grumbling and half-sulking, Lance nonetheless obediently turned around and let himself be tugged down into Vorash's lap. He caught his breath when he was pulled against the slightly damp fabric straining over Vorash's groin, squirming back against it with a slight grin over his shoulder that the older paladin knew was lighthearted revenge.

“We don't have lotion, either,” Vorash breathed in his ear, wrapping his prosthetic arm across Lance's hips and pressing up into the friction with a hiss. He slid his other hand up Lance's inner thigh, wasting no time in wrapping calloused fingers around the younger man's wet erection and tugging lightly upwards, shivering at the feel of the hot flesh sliding between his fingers and the high, choked whine that Lance tried to stifle by clapping a hand over his mouth.

His prosthetic arm moved up, crossing over Lance's chest to settle his hand over his shoulder and pull him back and down. His other hand began a glacially slow rhythm, and he huffed into the younger paladin's ear as Lance finally leaned back against his chest, splaying his legs apart over Vorash's knees to settle his feet on the floor. It gave him some purchase to both rock back against the erection pressing into his ass and up into the firm grip around his cock. He stretched back, looping one arm over the back of Vorash's neck to grin up at him hazily. His other hand slid over the black paladin's lips and pressed until granted entry.

“You know,” Lance panted, eyes fixating on the way the other man's tongue guided his fingers in and out of his mouth in time with his lazy strokes, “I am... _incredibly_ tempted to start begging you for very specific things.”

Vorash's eyes flashed in a smile, and he pulled his mouth back only far enough to whisper, “some other time, I promise,” before he drew Lance's fingers back in with his tongue. He groaned against them, eyelids fluttering, when Lance shifted his hips enough to settle his clothed erection between his parted asscheeks and push back with very clear intent. Whatever word he tried to verbalize was lost between Lance's fingers, but he sped up his rhythm and tightened his grip slightly on Lance's cock.

He burned the image into his mind; every color ever imagined sliding over Lance's naked skin as the leggy man straddled his lap backwards and writhed in the pleasure he was being given. He took in the way Lance's throat moved when he moaned and gasped, the way he bit into his palm when he was trying to muffle himself even though only the lions and Vorash could hear him. He could still taste Lance on the back of his tongue, could feel the building tension in the curl of the fingers in his mouth, and pulled Lance more tightly back against him. He worked his mouth free, leaving a trail of saliva across his cheek, and moved his prosthetic from Lance's shoulder to grip his wrist.

He guided Lance's hand to the back of his neck, turning his head to bury it in the blue paladin's soft, fluffy hair. He leaned forward a little, growling when Lance responded by twisting his hips back against him and whining. His other hand sped up, thumb dragging over the wet tip of Lance's erection as the younger paladin writhed in his lap. His lips found the curve of Lance's ear, and he managed a quiet, “say it,” between ragged breaths.

Lance whined, squirming against his hands and his hips, and dug his slick fingers into the knot of scar tissue at the back of his neck. “V-Vorash,” he whispered, shivering at the low, relaxed growl in his ear. He covered his mouth again with his palm when Vorash's mouth dropped to the side of his neck, and the black paladin scraped his teeth over his pulse. He whined again into his hand and rocked his hips back against Vorash, curling his fingers until his nails dug into the scar tissue and the older paladin growled again. He rest his head back on the older man's shoulder, panting, and let his eyes slide closed.

Vorash kept his mouth to Lance's neck, listening to the way his voice slid down his range, the quietly choked gasps when he turned his wrist just so, the stammered attempts at his name. He rocked against the younger man just as enthusiastically as Lance writhed against him, low growls and quiet hisses getting lost in soft brown hair as he could feel his body flushing with heat. The fingers on his neck tightened, tugged, and he moved his head to rest his face at the nape of Lance's neck, chest echoing with a rumble of what was meant to be the blue paladin's name.

He felt the edge of Lance's orgasm in the fingers on the back of his neck, groaned, and sank his teeth into the dark skin in front of his face. He flattened his hand against Lance's abdomen to pull him back against him, hard, and lost track of everything but the shudders working their way through both of them and the blood sliding down the side of his neck.

He didn't bother trying to refocus until Lance stirred, with no idea how long it had been. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of the blue paladin's neck—he'd barely broken skin, judging by the faint taste of blood in his mouth—and rubbed his thumb across the shivering muscles of Lance's stomach. The sticky wetness he found there brought a faint smile to his face, but shifting the younger man to lie back on the nest took him a long moment. It might have been easier if Lance showed any sign of regaining muscle control.

He took a moment to admire the view; Lance relaxed back against the nested pillows with a dazed smile, the fading colors of the rain outside turning the fluid spattered over his stomach into a cloudy rainbow, one hand lifting as if to pull Vorash down against him. He obeyed the unspoken request without hesitation, but instead of curling against Lance, he lowered his face to the blue paladin's stomach and began carefully licking up the salty-chemical mess he found there. He relished the answering gasp, the long fingers on his scalp, the flinch and flex of toned muscle beneath his tongue, but most of all he decided that of the half dozen new favorite flavors the day had offered him, this one was the best.

When Lance was clean, he finally pushed himself up to fit his body to the smaller man's side, purring deep in his throat when Lance stretched up to kiss him again. “Fuck,” the dark-skinned paladin panted when their mouths parted, “you _bit_ me.” He caught the sudden hesitation on Vorash's face and kissed him again. “It was really hot,” he assured between heavy breaths. His lips pulled into a smile when Vorash's did, and he nuzzled his face up against it contentedly, shifting closer. His thigh brushed between the older paladin's, and he pulled his face back abruptly. “You should get out of that bodysuit before that starts to dry and glue it to you,” his tone was full of rueful experience, “and Vorash?”

“Hm?”

“Maybe next time if you're going to come against my ass you should take your pants off first.” Lance was laughing when the pillow hit his face, and the older paladin's smile was wide beneath his blush.

_Next time._

 


End file.
